


almonds

by singitagain



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Affection, Anal, Creampie, Cuddling, Erotic Massage, Fingering, Foreplay, Little bit of aftercare, M/M, Nygmobblepot, PWP, Teasing, bottom!wald, mayorpot timeline, porn with feeling, rimjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 07:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singitagain/pseuds/singitagain
Summary: Oswald asked, and now he receives.And he is well taken care of.





	almonds

"Almond," Oswald murmurs, appreciative.

Ed pauses to squeeze another blob of oil into his hands because Oswald's skin is beyond thirsty and has been drinking it in like a dying plant, making the broad towel laid over the bed and the hand towel in reach a little unnecessary - at least for now. It's been close to ten minutes and they're somehow already down a fifth of the bottle. 

Hadn't taken Oswald long to decide getting a rubdown through his robe wasn't going to cut it.

"I thought you'd like it."

Ed doesn't tell him he grabbed it from the pantry. It just feels like the right thing to do. Because even now, three months, two weeks, and four days into something Oswald still calls _friendship_ with a misty-eyed, a boyish happiness that continues to baffle Ed, it still feels like the mood of an entire evening can hinge on a single word, said or unsaid.

Not that it stops _things_ from pinging in Ed's brain, the burning impulses to fill silences with facts and riddles.

"Did you know they have cyanide in them?"

"...What?"

Ed can't tell whether Oswald didn't hear him, didn't know, or isn't following, and doesn't wait long enough to find out.

"Almonds." He clarifies. Fingers skating the jut of Oswald's _scapulae_ , bones so sharp they look like they can slice through the skin. "Only in trace amounts, unless you're eating a few handfuls of the raw, bitter variety."

"Choking a man with an almond muffin would be far more efficient, if I had to choose."

"Well, obviously. I don't think that's up for debate." 

He rolls the pad of his thumb up along the inside of one shoulder blade, skirting the pale, waxy scar there, careful not to _dig_. "Yowza -- can you feel that?" It's a rhetorical question, because of _course_ Oswald has to feel something, with tendons slipping and snagging, crunching under his skin like a cement mixer. Oswald hisses and Ed eases off, making a face Oswald doesn't get to see. 

"This is what years of bad posture and _not doing your exercises_ does to you."

"I asked for a massage, Ed," he says, tightly, "not a lecture."

Ed purses his lips.

"Fine."

It's a very tenuous thing, the line between good-soreness and pain. As a general rule, though, the less Oswald talks, the better Ed knows he's doing - and, whining aside, Oswald hasn't pieced together so much as five whole sentences while Ed's been kneading the cold, wet week out of his neck and shoulders, fingers and thumbs and knuckles and palms working their strange, clever magic.

Oswald _can't stand_ the elbows. _Being tenderized_ , he had called it. He hasn't settled on a single descriptor yet for when Ed's touch feels _luxurious_ , tingly to the roots of his hair, but Ed can sense everything Oswald isn't saying behind the sweep of his fingers, in the grudging release of knotted muscle until nearly all of Oswald is melting into bed, half-naked, trusting. Then fully naked, when Ed helps to ease Oswald's loosened robe out from around his waist and lays him bare. A ta-da moment, like a magician yanking a curtain for the big reveal.

Ed's dick twitches. Filling and _aching_ and Oswald doesn't know it yet as he waits, face-down, a cushion tucked under his ass. His toes are already curling.

"Any leg work today? Knees, calves?"

"I'll pass."

The bed dips under Ed as he shifts around to kneel behind Oswald, his stance wide and solid, knees bracketing Oswald's legs. He looks down at his body, his wandering eye tracing the delicate, near-imperceptible taper of his back into a skinny waist and hips, a leanness rounded off, sweetened, by the jiggle at his ass and thighs and the backs of his arms, the soft under his jaw. He wouldn't mind Oswald a little thicker in the hips, he thinks. More Oswald to grab and to pull onto him. More Oswald spread fat around his lube-shined, pumping flesh, bouncing into every slam of his hips, every slapping thrust. 

A heady swirl of desire nearly unbalances him.

"Thighs okay?" Ed asks, leaning over him to rub broad figure-eights into his lower back, slick on slick. His cock bobs heavy, as if struggling under its own weight. 

Oswald wiggles his shoulders a little, settles. "...Sure, whatever." He slurs into the mattress. His arms lie loose at his sides.

It's a marked difference from how he was the first time, squirming and ticklish and yelping in a way that was almost impossible to take seriously. He tolerates pressure far better now; his body wants this, _wants_ to relax and just doesn't know how, not without help.

Quiet, Ed runs his hands up and down the backs of Oswald's thighs, firm, rolling strokes, until they shine, stopping at crease where the fattest part meets the swell of his cheeks. Little by little, he expands his reach, easing more weight into the heels of his hands as he push higher, further, up into his ass, not hard over the sit bones but into the meat and the softness there. Oswald groans out a breath from the bottom of his lungs. Ed can sense him tensing.

"Load-bearing muscles," he says by way of explanation, his palms stilling. He bears down into the plump give of Oswald's ass, shifting pressure a little from arm to arm, waiting for the release. It's a very slow, reluctant wearing-down, and Ed smiles a little when he feels it, equally delighted by the physics of Oswald's ass, the way pancaked globes spring back into shape. He slides up Oswald's thighs again, squeezing his cheeks together before separating them with a smooth, fanning sweep of his palms, circling back down for another pass.

It somehow doesn't feel like something he should be allowed to do, to get away with; his belly twists with a hunger that _hurts_ with Oswald greased and so soft in his grip, the split of his cheeks and the sly flex of his anus. On every near-frictionless glide of his hands, the squeezing and the lazy spread of his ass, Oswald relaxes, sags into bed, until he's juicy-pliant, as if he's all fat and no muscle. Like with any more slick, he might slip through his fingers. 

That, of course, is untrue. 

Ed reaches for the bottle, pouring a thread of oil into Oswald's crack for good measure. He watches it slide neat down, down, before catching it on the pad of a finger and tracing the seam along the velvety spill of Oswald's balls.

Oswald stirs, quivering with interest.

"Too much?" There's a cockeyed grin in Ed's voice, a simmering heat behind it.

Oswald scoffs, and Ed can tell even that is an effort.

"I don't recall telling you to stop."

"Well, that's good." He wraps his whole hand around Oswald's shaft, pulling gently while smoothing oil down, down, to its flushed, half-bared tip in one long stroke. Oswald immediately hardens into his palm. Ed can see the flaring of his slit, the leaking of fresh precome he thumbs away to taste. The faint sweetness of it sticks to his lip. He licks it away, sure Oswald would've made a face if he saw it. "I wasn't planning on it."

The mattress is long - a good six feet and then some - but Ed's a tall man, his feet hanging off the edge when he finally settles between Oswald's thighs and stretches out. It's a bit uncomfortable resting on his elbows with the muscles around and between his shoulders already bunching painfully. But the view makes up for it. 

He doesn't need his glasses back on to see everything he needs to see, what he wants to see, when curling his fingers into his crack and eases his cheeks apart, an effortless, pillowy spread. The secret to the gentle art of opening Oswald Cobblepot, he has learned, is that it can't be _willed_ to happen.  
  
The Other Ed licks his lips and begs to differ; Ed can feel him wanting, _them_ wanting, a throbbing so deep and aggressive it makes him a little dizzy. His hips move with a mind of their own, short, jerking thrusts, hopelessly rutting into the mattress. Ed still remembers, keeps remembering, what Oswald would have him remember - that touching him and tasting him, _taking_ him, is a privilege and not a right. Never a right. He'd be patient even if it hurt, because Oswald would eventually come to him anyway, like he always did, shaky and desperate, mewling for relief.

It doesn't take much to bring Oswald there, to that knife's edge.

A few suckling kisses pressed to the warm, inner edge of an ass cheek already pebbled with goosebumps; the barest suggestion of what his tongue can do, and undo, as it skims his cleft only to feather his puckered rim, more breath than slick or pressure. Just enough of a taste for Oswald to _pay attention_. Squirming minutely, breathing faster. 

Ed's forefinger catches the crinkle of his hole, plying at its tender, glistening pinkness.

"I'm impressed, Oswald," He traces a fine crease. His own cock tickles at the tip, leaking. "I didn't think you'd tolerate pressure as well as you did. Maybe we should try this more often."

Oswald makes a noise as more oil dribbles onto him, dripping, and the back of a long finger rides his crack, to the softness behind his balls and back, sliding everywhere but _inside_ him. His jaw hardens.

"It helps when you're not subjecting me to a new form of cruel and unusual punishment," he says through his teeth.

Ed huffs.

"Oh, c'mon - it wasn't _cruel_." Oswald, always with the hyperboles. "You just weren't used to it. ...And now --" Smearing oil around Oswald's twitching entrance, he angles his fingertip, pushing in, "--you have a taste for it." 

Oswald stills, sighing high in his throat as he opens. It's slow going, but easier than maybe either of them expected for the first try of the night. Ed makes it middle-knuckle-deep before Oswald's body closes on him - not viciously, but enough to tell him what he needs. A little more time, more coaxing. He lingers a while before drawing out just as carefully, finger dragging on the hot, gritty clench of pure muscle.

It's a start - and a while before he tries again, in no real hurry with both his hands back on Oswald and a mouth sinking onto him, into him, made for kissing him raw. He buries his face between his cheeks, his jaw working, working him wet. Wounded, breathy little sounds hitch Oswald's chest, an irrepressible shiver running through him. His legs part, all on their own.

Ed is indifferent to almonds, himself. The dark, savoury-bitter taste underneath it ( _umami_ flits through some part of his brain), the taste of Oswald lush between his thumbs, stretched and trembling open, is its own kind of heady drug, deepening on his tongue as it slips in and out, in and out. Faster and wetter, seeking. 

Muscles ripple and flex in Oswald's thighs. It's like Ed's tongue is a raw current, a direct power source jacked into his spine. Oswald strains in his grip, away from every slippery thrust and panting, starved kiss roped with spit. And then into them, grinding, whimpering desperately as he claws at and clutches the bedspread--

" _...nnnghfuck_..." he breathes, the sound harsh in his throat. "fuck..."

\-- because Ed's fingers digging into his flesh and not letting go. Because Ed never lets him go until he's well-fed, until Oswald's a twitchy, pleading mess of dripping slick.

"No more," Oswald gasps.

It's something they both can agree on more or less at the same time, because Ed badly needs to roll the cramp out of his shoulders and Oswald is hungry enough to welcome the experimental press of his finger, unwilling to let Ed have it back. Edging it out dredges a bitten-off moan from somewhere low in his chest, pure misery.

Ed's head whirls when he pushes up and onto his knees, like he's gotten up too fast. More blood flooding his cock than his brain, he's sure. Oswald grows impatient and rises on an elbow after a long stretch of _nothing_ , twisting his head around to glance his way. The severe angles of his face are somehow softer, like it's a blurred photo of Oswald Ed's looking at, and not Oswald himself. But his eyes, the blue of dirty ice, could slash open a man's throat. They're just like they are when Ed watches him turn the barrel of a gun on someone else, on someone not expecting it, and Ed feels echoes of that crazy rush of secondhand power straight to his balls.

He stares at Oswald's throat as it moves. Doesn't look away while his own hand dips, down, down, fingers grazing pubic hair before sliding around the root of his cock. It's stiffly poised, blood-hot, and Oswald's ass is its true north.

"How do you want it?"

His voice is raw and this side of sly, almost like Other Ed's growling purr is pouring from his throat. It's more than a little jarring, sending a tight, warm flutter through him.

Oswald actually hesitates, lips parted, like he's lost his thought. His gaze mellows, drifting, almost inevitably, to Ed's hand as it pumps - making mental calculations, probably. There's a little furrow between his brows, as if he swears Ed is widening every time he looks.

"Very carefully, and thoroughly well done." He says as he looks back up at him, punctuating the statement with an expectant lift of his eyebrows.

"When haven't I been careful?"

At that, Oswald cants his head, staring flatly. Ed feels a twinge of guilt and hates it.

"...fine. But I have _always_ been thorough."

He's almost surprised Oswald doesn't challenge that, even teasingly.

"This is fine, by the way," Oswald says, while flattening himself over the warm, sweat-damp towel again, turning his head to the side. It's not with the intention to watch, Ed's sure, because he's never had an interest in seeing Ed bury into him, rarely catching his eye when eaten inside-out or blown into a whole new stratosphere of pleasure.

It takes Ed a moment to realize Oswald has answered his question directly. "...Felt like a change of pace?"

"Yes, something like that, I suppose."

Ed leans over him, lining himself up. His head swims with lust and questions.

"You sure you don't want to try something with greater depth of penetration...?

"...Tempting. But I'm good, thanks."

 _Good_ doesn't really translate, taking in the bent bow of Oswald's back, the grip he has on the sheets. Maybe less _good_ , and more braced for the promised fuck. 

Which isn't good.

Taking no chances, Ed squeezes more oil out for the both of them. Most of which he slops onto Oswald. A muscle in Oswald's thigh jumps as Ed smears it over and into him. Ed's reminded of lizards that can drop their tails when faced with a threat and make a break for it, a powerful burst of speed. Oswald can move just as fast when he wants to.

"Remember, Oswald..." Guiding his cock to him. Fat, spongy head sliding into the dip of his hole, nudging up against him. _A privilege and not a right_. "...just take a few deep breaths, and bear down."

Oswald's knuckles blanch. 

"I know how to do it," he answers, with the slightest snappish edge.

His sides surge, straining for air. One breath. Two, three, four. Feels like forever while Ed listens and Ed waits, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Then, ready or not ready, Oswald is pushing out on the exhale, a long, shuddering breath, and Ed _feels_ his chance, gasping as he sinks into tight heat. 

Oswald lets out a sharp cry through his teeth.

Somehow, neither of them are ever fully prepared for it, the unbearable _squeeze_ and the panting, full-bodied effort it takes for Oswald just to let him in, take the rest of him whole. But it comes, the agonizing, sweet-slow yielding, a sob breaking in Oswald's throat in the moment his body folds and Ed slots inside, filling him out, throbbing and bulging-wide all around. Ed eases down, lying on top of him, holding him until he stills. Waiting again, as long as he can bear for Oswald to catch his breath and the burning stretch to ease off before he moves, a silky rasping of oiled skin. In and out, in and out. Inches at a time; then longer, deeper strokes, until he relaxes around Ed's cock and moans in relief, eyes closed, his damp cheek pressed into his towel. Finding some comfort, finding _home_ , in the sprawl and the warmth and weight of 160-odd pounds of Edward Nygma draped over him. All around and inside him, rocking him into the bed as Gotham slips away.

Ed noses the dark hair behind the shell of Oswald's ear, breathing in sweat and almonds and musk, something _animal_ in the fever-heat rolling off him. He hums, a low rumbling in his throat as he mouths at Oswald's jaw, at the soft underneath. He tastes salt on him; tastes the bitter tang of desperation. 

Pressed this close with Oswald flat under him means fucking is shallower and pleasure just a little harder-earned, muscles rippling in Ed's back, his ass flexing with every full-bodied roll of his hips. It's this slow-burn Oswald was clearly gunning for, a gentle introduction to something new. Ed can't blame him for wanting to feel sated _and_ safe. Because at the end of the day, even three months, two weeks, and four days into something Oswald still calls _friendship_ , Oswald still locks the bedroom door behind them, still dims the lights, still waits for Ed to remove his glasses. Still hides his nakedness, hides his leg, hides, gasping behind his hand, when Ed's tongue coaxes him open. This is who Oswald Cobblepot is - and Ed is learning to accept everything Oswald isn't; everything he can't change; the little ways Oswald could sometimes hurt him without even knowing it. 

But it's so easy to forgive it all, to forget everything while shoving himself into hot, desperately tight slick again, the stinging-sweet clench; he can't even feel vaguely annoyed about it because he _wantswantswants_ , a pure, lizard-brained need, and Oswald is open and Oswald is giving. He just can't help himself and neither can Ed, and nothing is anyone's fault anymore -- 

And Oswald is restless underneath him, gasping as he shifts and presses into the lunge of his hips. Their flesh smacks together, sharp, steady taps, and Oswald's face twists in an expression that could be pain, could be pleasure; Ed can't tell. The noise he chokes out isn't _no_ , or _stop_ , and Ed is hopeful, watching his jaw slip open a little, the flutter of his lashes showing only the whites of his eyes.

"Epinephrine, dopamine, serotonin..." Ed rattles off between hungry kisses, pulling off Oswald's neck with a sucking pop. Air is sharp, dizzying, as he sucks it down, searing his lungs. "...norepinephrine, epinephrine. Lust, Oswald--" his voice rough, dark, "--it's all chemical."

And he's drowning in it. Drowning in Oswald, grunting as he fucks him whining and breathless, fucks him like they haven't talked in years and years, like he's making up for lost time. 

Sweat drips down the hard cut of his cheekbone and jaw, drips into the tangle of Oswald's hair.

" _Aah -- aah --_ " Shallow rasps half-smothered into the towel. Oswald knuckles the bedspread harder. "...Ed..."

He's being good, so good to Ed, taking cock like a blessing, thrust after thrust splitting him, into his softening stretch, loosing broken, keening sounds from his lips. And then Oswald is _gone_ \- choking a gasp as he comes in gushes that soak his towel, shuddering into Ed's chest. 

Ed keeps on him, groaning, belly knotting and thighs trembling. Still plunging when he peaks out and surges into Oswald's guts, rope after rope. The pull of his hole is ruthless, wringing him dry.

Then the _after_ hits like a sucker punch. 

Ed slumps heavy on top of Oswald, quivering and brainless. Stays burrowed inside him, where it's sweet and flexing and good, and they gulp for air, unevenly, like they're taking turns. It's a long wait, until the room stops spinning, a time Ed measures in heartbeats. Oswald doesn't complain. He breathes and breathes, sighing when Ed pulls out of him half-soft, sucking-wet. 

Ed pushes up slow, on rubbery arms, swallowing as he looks him over. He's dully mesmerized, watching his hole as it pulses in and out, in and out, and opens, squeezing out a pearly gob of come.

Oswald is a mess.

Ed thinks about cleaning him off with something softer, more soothing, than a hand towel. But he's tired, too tired to do much more than roll off him and stretch an arm out for it anyway. He dabs Oswald's sheening, jellied thighs and in between them, gentle where Oswald is rawest. A sort of unspoken apology between them.

Oswald moves before he's finished, turning on his side to face him. His eyes are glazed and faraway, full of wonder. There's a sweet tenderness in his exhaustion. It has a pull over Ed, that look, makes him want to kiss him full on the mouth, even if Oswald would stiffen his jaw in refusal. At least until after he brushed his teeth, used mouthwash, rinsed away the memory of ever tasting his delicate insides.

Neither of them say anything until the air-hunger has passed and the air feels a little cooler on their skin.

Ed reaches over, thumbing away a smudge of blood bright on Oswald's lip. And maybe it was what Oswald was waiting for, or something like it, because it's all it takes for Oswald to shimmy closer and nestle up into him, leaning into his heaving, splotchy chest.

They lie there a while, a loose, sweaty tangle of limbs. Warm and spent and safe.

"How's that for thorough?" Ed's voice is as frayed and soft and broken as Oswald looks.

Oswald pulls back to look at him. Surprise flickers across his face, then melts into a half-smile. "I must say, you did not disappoint. Except..." and he pauses, coy, a dimple deepening, "...there is one thing you forgot."

Ed feels his own smirk drain from his face.

"What?"

Oswald's little chuckle vibrates against Ed's chest. He lifts a finger to tap the high arch of his cheekbone. "Capping it off with a kiss - _duh_."

Ed blinks, then scoffs softly, shaking his head as that half-smile of Oswald's spreads into a full, lazy curve. He just can't help it and neither can Oswald, and nothing is anyone's fault, not right now.

"Well...?" Oswald cocks a brow when he's silent for too long. "...Are you gonna kiss me or not?"

Ed wets his lips, feeling very clever.

"How do you want it?" he asks.

* * *


End file.
